


God Only Knows

by Preelikeswriting



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 60's era, Gang AU, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-16 09:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12340152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Preelikeswriting/pseuds/Preelikeswriting
Summary: In which Alex meets his soulmates, joins a gang, and ruffles some feathers.





	1. Killing me Softly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpeckledCoffeeCups](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpeckledCoffeeCups/gifts).



Alex hated nights like this. The winds gunned down the alleys with a vengeance, each gust carrying with it scores of rain. The doorway he had tucked himself into offered little protection from the elements and Alex was drenched to the bones. Violent rain made him twitchy and anxious, bad memories of hellish tropical storms on St. Croix had given him a permanent fear of being caught out in the open during bad weather.

He pulled out the sharpie he had nicked from a corner shop about a block away along with dinner, and began to draw on his wrist, complicated swirls that became waves and seashells, as if he could trick his mind into thinking he was back home at the beach, not squatting in an alley in a country he hardly knew. It was a habit he had learned from his mother, her left wrist was where her tattoo had appeared, and after his father had left, she had altered it as often as she could to forget.

James had done it too for a while, and then all three of them would have matching tattoos. But when James 13th birthday had arrived and the swirls of his tattoo had appeared along his jawline, he said he didn’t need to pretend anymore. His mother's tattoo had been a rose, James’s rolling waves, and his a sunburst on the base of his neck.

A year later when their mother became sick, Alex stayed home from school to look after her, while James worked odd jobs around town to scrounge up money for medicine. Alex would sit at her bedside changing the wet cloth on her forehead and drawing on her wrist in pen. Eventually, he would grow tired of pictures and instead cover her forearm with neat careful lines of writing that he would read back to her in her more lucid moments.

Alex could feel himself getting sick, but he refused to say anything about it. James was already run ragged doing everything a 14-year-old grocers son could make money for, and Alex didn’t want to stretch their cash even further. He had been on his way to tell his older brother his plan to get a job too when he had collapsed midstep. James had found him lying there after he heard the crash and in his panic, had run for a doctor without thinking what the service would cost them.

Their mother had died the next week as she lay in bed with Alex. James had found him sobbing next to her, too weak to move, an hour later. When Alex was getting better and cousin Peter took them in, James had hardly let him out of his sight, half convinced his little brother would keel over at any minute. But while he had been watching Alex, the both of them had failed to notice Peter. It had been James, who had discovered him swinging from the rafters while Alex had been at school. And by the time he had come home, the police had come and cut him down and taken him away.

The boys managed to duck anyone resembling social services, and James got a full-time job working in a furniture shop, while Alex had continued on with school. They hadn’t had much, but they were surviving. At least until the Hurricane had hit.

The boys had clung tight to each other while they searched for something resembling land, and Alex had almost drowned when debris from a collapsing house hit him, as they attempted to make it through the rapid moving flood waters that choked and suffocated them with every breath. They had managed to survive, but when the flood waters had receded the boys had no place to live. The shop owner James worked for had let the boys sleep in the backroom, and while James worked, Alex wrote. With the school almost completely destroyed, Alex spent his every waking hour composing a letter to his father who he hadn’t seen for years.

Eventually, after weeks of work he had finished it, but Alex was soon faced with a new problem. He wasn’t sure where his father was. His mother had told them he had gone back to St. Kitts, but with no address, or guarantee that he was still there, Alex was stuck.

It was the shopkeeper who had suggested it, while James had been oddly quiet about the whole affair. He had told Alexander to take the letter to the papers, and ask to have it published along with a request for information. The paper wouldn’t be up and running for a few weeks, and it didn’t sell in St. Kitts, but it was better than what he had before.

The man at the papers had told Alex he couldn’t run it for another couple of weeks, even after the paper had started printing again. The personals and classifieds had been completely bought up by people looking for lost family members, and most of the rest of the paper was devoted to reports from the National Guard. Enough time had passed that Alex had begun to lose his childish hope of their father swooping in to save them, but he still turned his letter over to the paper along with some cash James had given him as allowance. 

Alex had been right, their father never did appear, but something else had happened instead. Folks had started showing up at the shop asking to speak with the Hamilton boys, and almost every single one of them had left something behind. Be it food, or a little cash they could spare. And it was the cash they gave that put Alex on a ship to America.

Alex could still remember that conversation late at night, when he had woken James with the realization that they had enough money from donations alone for the two of them to make it to St. Kitts and search for their father manually. James had sighed and ran his fingers through his newly shortened hair. He had fixed Alex with a careful look, and told him to use the money to buy himself a ticket on a boat to America and not look back. Alex had been confused at first, because they didn’t have nearly enough for the both of them to cross, and then he’d got it. James would be staying behind.

The splash of steps against the wet road drawing nearer to where he was crouched, alerted Alexander that he was no longer alone in his dark alley. The figures breaths were labored, and now that they were closer, Alex could make out how out of rhythm their steps were.

_“Fuck,”_ the boy breathed out, they were only a few feet behind him now, and Alex had to give a sympathetic wince as the boy broke into a wet coughing fit. The sound of it alone was enough to make Alex’s lungs hurt at the memory of his own near-fatal illness. He heard the boy hiss, and the sound of fabric sliding down the brick wall that ended in a dull splash that told Alex he had planted himself in what he estimated to be roughly an inch of water covering the street.

Warily Alex leaned out of his alcove to catch a glimpse of the boy. While most of him was concealed by the evening shadows, Alex could still make out the golden snake pin attached to the shoulder of the teens leather jacket. He was one of the Son’s of Liberty then. That made sense, they were in Son’s territory after all. What made less sense though was the way he was clutching his ribs. _Why would anyone be stupid enough to attack a gang member on their own turf? Unless..._

Then in the distance, Alex heard the sounds of boys hooping and hollering, growing closer with every second.

“Come out come wherever you are!” the voices sang, and the boy struggled to his feet, his head swinging around desperately. The laughter grew nearer and the kid stumbled forward only making a few feet before crashing violently into the ground. The kid must have landed on something because a loud metal clanging rang out as he made contact with the ground. 

_ “Found you!” _

Alex bit back a curse as he looked for somewhere in the blind alley to take shelter. Only one gang in the area would so brazenly march on to another gang's turf, and the Tories weren’t exactly known for their treatment of civilians. _There!_ There was a gap in the fence, it was small but Alex was a skinny kid, he could make it.

Pulling his threadbare jacket tight around his shoulder he threw himself off the stoop and into the rain. He could hear the boy struggling on the ground behind him, and the Tories drawing nearer. _“Please,”_ The boy’s plea was faint, easy enough to pretend he hadn’t heard it. But not to Alex. Gritting his teeth he jerked around and in a few steps he was at the boy's side. Reaching down he pulled the kid roughly to his feet, taking his weight on his shoulders. The two of them stumbled forward, and within two steps Alex knew they weren’t going to make it.

“Well looky here boys,” The Tory leader said with a wide grin. His slicked back blonde hair and a red bandanna tied loosely around his neck confirmed Alex’s fears. “Little gutter rat here tried to hide.” 

“And check it out Eacker, he found himself a friend too.” One of the others said, gesturing to Alex with a crowbar held loosely in his hand. The teens chuckled menacingly as they closed in, bike chains and zip guns flashing in the low night light. Alex kept himself moving backward, away from the King’s men a towards the hole in the fence.

Eaker held his hand up signaling for his men to stop, and he fixed Alex with an easy smile. “Look, kid, you’ve got no business here. Hand over Laurens, and we’ll let you go.” Alex narrowed his eyes at the blonde, about as convinced by his words as Eaker’s own men, if the sideways glances they were shooting him were anything to judge by.

_“Go,”_ Alex heard the teen he was holding up- Laurens according to Eacker- mutter.

“Thanks but I’m fine where I am.” Alex ground out. He’d never been one to back down from a fight, even when it was against his best interest.

“Your funeral,” Eacker said with a shrug, and with that, the teens behind him lunged forward.

Alex swore violently as one of the boys took a shot at him with his homemade zip gun, just barely missing him. Another swung a pipe and Alexander just managed to stumble out of its way. Alex may have never turned down an opportunity to fight, but that didn’t mean he had ever been very good at it. James was the brawler of the two, always finishing the fights Alex stated by running his mouth. If one good thing came of that though, Alex reflected as a thick bicycle chain whipped him across the face knocking him off balance, it was that he knew how to take a hit.

Alex deposited Laurens against the building and rushed forward in an attempt to ram the boy in front of him. He hit him hard in the gut, and the Tory stumbled back unsteadily. The victory was brief as two more boys closed around him. 

“Don’t shoot, you idiot!” Alex heard Eaker yell. He jerked his head up to see Eacker shoving down the hands of the kid who tried to take a shot at him earlier. _The guns are Inaccurate… he can’t shoot me with so many Tories around._ A knee buried itself in his stomach knocking the air from his lungs. Alex gasped, still recovering as the second boy took swing. With not enough space and time to respond to the punch, it caught him on the side of the head where the bicycle chain had struck him earlier. Alex gasped trying to draw a breath as the biggest of the boy’s grabbed him by the throat and dragged him up the wall. A ring the boy wore cutting deeply into his neck.

Alex kicked out violently and dug his nails into the boy’s hand as he tried to break his iron grip. he smashed down on the boy's arm, jarring his hold enough that he managed to draw half a breath. The Tory growled and tightened his hold, even more, squeezing his throat until Alex’s vision begin to flicker and die. Alex’s head lulled to the side as his protests grew fainter, weekly slapping against the Tories wrist.

Then all of a sudden he was falling. Alex struggled to draw breath through his abused throat, and he choked as his attempts drew in water off the street.

_ “-uker! You’re dead! You hear me? Dead!” _

Alex felt something warm drip down from above and land on his cheek. With all the effort he could muster, he willed his heavy eyelids to crack open as his brain again supplied him with the urgency of his situation. 

The Tory boy stood above him, swaying slightly on his feet blinking rapidly as he tried to comprehend the blood that dripped steadily from his gut. A knife sat innocently buried up to its hilt through the folds in his jacket. Laurens stood, half collapsed against the wall Alex had leaned him against, his hand still outstretched from where he had pushed the knife in. 

“Can you move?”

It took Alex a second in his oxygen-starved state to realize Laurens was talking to him. He opened his mouth to respond but his voice didn't answer as his body was racked again by violent coughs. Alex registered a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye and a gasp before the Tory crumpled next to him. 

“Eacker, take your boys and get the fuck out of our territory.”

Eacker’s voice sounded rough as he responded. “Not gonna happen, Laurens, you killed one of our boys. _I’m gonna fucking crucify you._ ”

“You kill me, here, on our turf. That means war you know.”

“Boss maybe we should-” one of Eacker’s boys tried the say. The Tory captain shut him down with a glare. 

Laurens stood strong, his reclaimed knife flashing with the teen's blood. “You should think very carefully about what you do next. What would King think? Starting trouble without permission.”

Eacker growled, his own knife sparking with street light. “Like I wanted to dirty my blade with your filthy blood.” He didn't put the weapon away but he backed slowly out of the alley his boys at his back. Eacker’s dark eyes screamed murder, and with one last glance at the dead Tory boy, he was gone. 

Laurens’s collapse was far from graceful, and Alex would have given a shout of alarm if his voice wasn't still refusing to work. Alex pushed himself onto his knees unsteady and stumbled over to where Laurens lay. 

The other teen let out a moan as Alex rolled him on his back to inspect the damage. His head felt light and dizzy, and his vision spun with every move he made. It took him a second to make out the dark red among the black of Lauren's shirt, the boy hissing as Alex’s hands hovered over his injured ribs. Carefully Alex pulled up the bottom of the Son's shirt to get a better look at the damage. Laurens made a low keening sound as the shirt ripped away from where it had glued itself to his wounds. Alex jerked his head up, hoping to convey an apology with his face. Instead, the world tipped and spun dangerously, sending Alex careening downward.

He threw out a hand to break his fall, and Laurens gave a cry as Alex impacted his left side. Alex’s eyes widened and he went to pull his hand back only to be met with a wave of fiery warmth. Both boys gasped, _no fricken way…_ A flash of confusing emotions flowed into his head, muddling it further.

Alex looked down at the dark pie slice shaped spirals that made up Laurens tattoo, and he felt his heart drop. _“You're my-?”_ Laurens’s words were cut off as a painful bout of coughing racked his frame.

Alex placed his hands on Laurens' shoulders keeping the injured boy down. “-sy, Easy” a gravelly sound escaped his throat, and Alex let out a groan of pain at the feeling.

“Don’t talk, don’t hurt yourself,” Laurens said, his eyes wide as his left hand reached up toward him. Alex felt a hollow guilt looking down on Laurens like he was being eaten from the inside out. he doesn’t know… He deserves better. But even that couldn’t stop the pure relief that consumed his body as the Son's hand closed around the back of his neck, landing on his tattoo.

“We need to go,” Alex managed to bite out as a result of the relief Lauren's grasp provided him. “Do you have somewhere-?” Alex broke down in a bough of coughing. His damaged throat having reached its limit.

“Yeah,” Laurens struggled to a sitting position, leaning heavily on Hamilton. “It’s not far from here. It’s where I was going when they jumped me.”

Alex shifted so Laurens’s arm was slung over his shoulder and stood, finding that his body wasn’t quite ready to stand again. The two stumbled drunkenly down the alley as Laurens called out directions, and Hamilton worked to keep them upright and stanch the blood seeping from Laurens’s side.

Stop lights illuminated their faces with bright colors as they approached Laurens’s safe house. People on the sidewalks purposely turned their gaze from the bleeding boys, and a couple ducked inside stores as they neared. “It’s just a little further,” Laurens mumbled, and Alex got the feeling the words hadn’t been directed to him.

“Here!” Laurens gasped. “Turn here!” Alex supported them down the alley until they reached the employee door to some shop. Immediately Laurens began wailing on the door, and Alex had to jump to avoid letting the teen crash to the ground.

“Do you have any fucking idea how late it-” the door swung open to reveal a dark-skinned girl maybe a year or two younger than them.

“Hey Peg,” he gasped weakly, and with that Laurens slumped forward, knocking Alex off balance.

_“Oh shit!”_ she helped catch both of them and manhandle them through the door. “Laf! Jefferson! Hurry goddammit! Laurens needs help.”

Alex’s vision had begun to spark out again, his adrenaline completely shot as the sound of people running filled his ears. Alex felt his eyes close, only a second latter to have a hand lightly slapped across his face. “Stay awake mon amie, You have a concussion. You need to stay awake.”

Alex felt himself lean against someone, and his legs moved forward without conscious thought.

“Hey Laf, set him up over here. I’m going to run and get the General, you grab Eliza. Laurens needs stitches.” 

Alex was deposited on what felt like a table of some sort, the force of it jarring him back to himself. “Hey! Hey!” someone snapped their fingers in Alexander's face and he blinked rapidly as he tried to make sense of the face in front of him. “-listen to me! Hey! _Listen to me mon amie_ , you need to stay awake, just until the Doc comes and checks you out. Can you do that for me?”

Alex nodded and barely managed to avoid collapsing forward.

“That’s going to have to work.” the voice muttered and the face sped off.

Alex leaned back against some shelving behind him and stared blankly up at the flickering lights above him. The distant ticking of a clock felt like a jackhammer in his skull, and Alex found himself losing his train of thought as his mind began waxing poetically about his newfound hatred for the noise. Distantly he could hear the sounds of people moving about, but they sounded like they were underwater, and soon they were overtaken by the chattering of Hamilton’s own teeth.

Alex snapped back to himself as he felt a hand close around his jaw. Sluggishly he tried to beat the grasp away, but even the small movement left him dizzy and nauseous. _“Easy, mon amie_ the good doctor is just going to take a look at you.”

Alex blinked rapidly as violently bright light crawled in front of his eyes, and he had to fight the urge to squirm away as thin hands prodded carefully along his black and blue throat. 

“He should be alright to sleep if you can get someone to wake him up every so often. Normally I’d want to ask him some questions before, but Laurens said he can’t talk, and I don’t want to hurt him more.” came the quiet voice of a young woman. Alex felt something rough against his throat, but he wasn’t conscious enough to ponder in any further.

_“Merci,_ I’ll take him from here Eliza.” Alex felt someone slid him forwards, and catch him as his knee gave out as he landed. “ _Come along mon petit ami. Let’s get you laid down.”_

Hamilton found himself moments later curled up in a cot, a thick warm blanket thrown over him. The lights here were dimmer, and he felt the pressure in his head decrease.

“Hey,” came a voice on his right, and Alex rotated his head to see who had spoken. Laurens was laid out of a cot next to him patched up and shirtless, so Alex could clearly see his tattoo. “It’s kinda funny.” Laurens gave a weak chuckle. “I never imagined I would meet my soulmate and almost get him killed within a matter of minutes. Sorry about that.”

Alex tried to shake his head, _No, no it’s not your fault. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I’m a freak_ As the guilt over Laurens’s tattoo caught up with him again. But even the slightest movement caused shooting pain that nearly whited out his vision.

“I’m John, by the way, John Laurens.” he gave a weak smile. “Will you tell me yours when you can? It feels funny not knowing.”

Alex gave a small nod despite the pain and closed his eyes as the weight of his eyelids became too much. Goodnight John Laurens. He murmured silently to himself.


	2. Unchained Melody

The first time Alex woke for real, as in, not including the near hourly wake ups by the French boy, he came to a complete understanding about how utterly out of control his life had gotten in less than 24 hours. He had _1) willingly involved himself in gang activity, 2) picked a fight with the Tories of all gangs,_ and lastly _3) he was now laying in the very center of a Son’s of Liberty base._ Oh. and he’d found his soulmate. Or, one of them at least.

The thought burned as he reached up to rub his tattoo self consciously, only to find his throat wrapped in even bandages. Laurens’s, John’s, tattoo was only a fraction of his. Roughly a third if Alex had to wager. A third of a swirling sunburst along his ribs.

“Hey, you’re awake.” Alex turned his head as John stirred groggily on the cot next to him. “How are you feeling?”

“You got hurt worse than I did.” Alex managed to croak out quietly.

“I can still care,” John responded.

“I’m fine,” Alex gave a muted laugh. “don’t think I’ll be singing anytime soon though,” Alex reached up to touch the tender skin. “But. I’ve had worse.” Alex saw John frown out of the corner of his eyes, even as his mind screamed that he didn’t deserve his concern. “How about you?”

John gave a one-armed shrug. “My right side’s pretty banged up, one of Eacker’s cronies was wearing metal tipped shoes. I’m lucky more of them didn’t opt for them, a kid won't last more than a few minutes if a group is wailing on them wearing those.”

Alex nodded, he’d stumbled across more than a couple bodies during his time in New York.

“Hey John, where are we?” He asked. They couldn’t have been far from where Alex intended to spend last night, but things started getting fuzzy some point after John’s hand had found his mark. He doubted he could find his way back, all New York streets looked the same to him. But, his train of thought paused. Back to what? All he owned were the clothes hanging off his back, everything else he’d sold or used up. Find his way back to the alley he had been beaten within an inch of his life in? The one where he’d been nearly shot because the shop owners didn’t like him digging through their dumpsters?

“Schuyler Sandwich Shop.” Just as he suspected, Alex had no idea where that was. “Well, the storage unit at least. Philip Schuyler has an arrangement with Washington. We get to use this part as a hideout, and in return, we make sure no one messes with his girls.”

Alex nodded. _Washington, right._ He headed up the Son's. Well, Alex sighed, If he wanted to make it back onto recognizable turf before nightfall he should start heading out. “So how dead am I the moment I leave?” Alex asked sitting up on his cot, wincing as his voice gave out on the last word and refused to make any more sound.

“What are you talking about? You're one of us now.” John shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I mean if you want to. You saved my life, and you're my, you know, I'm not about to let you get beat to death in an alleyway.” the boy winced at the awkward phrasing.

With every word, Alex felt his heart grow heavier. Oh God, he wanted to. Being a gang member was hardly what he had in mind for himself coming to America, but John was offering his a roof, four walls, and a community to call his own. His memories of sleeping in alleyways seemed to grow colder and more miserable every second he considered the offer. 

“I mean, you don't have to decide now... uh.” Laurens paused, looking a bit unsure of himself. “Would it be okay for you to tell me your name now?”

Alex’s eyes widened in the realization that he’d never told Laurens what his was. He thought selfishly for a second, of withholding it. It would be easier to leave later, but in the end, the painful knot that appeared in his chest at the thought of abandoning his soulmate won out. “I'm Alex, Alexander Hamilton.” he offered with a small smile.

John grinned and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted.

“Such a big name for such a little kid.” Alex whirled around at the same time John straightened up. Leaning against the doorway on the far wall was a slender dark-skinned boy with a mass of intentionally wild black curls, a smirk smeared across his face.

“What are you doing here Jefferson?” John asked, pushing himself up to stand. He stumbled a little and Alex moved to steady him in

“General is here, and he wants a report.” Jefferson had taken a step forward as if to catch John too, Alex noted.

“I’m fine,” he murmured to Alex. John turned to Jefferson then and nodded, “I’ll be there in a second.” The teen nodded and left the room, presumably to pass on the message. John hissed as he readjusted his injured arm and grabbed a jacket from the end of his cot.

“Just wait here, I’ll only be a little.” John must have seen something in his eyes because he gave Alex a small smile and placed his hand on the back of his neck. The bandages muted the warmth, but it was still one of the most instantly relaxing things he’d ever felt. Alex wanted to just say there, basking in John’s glow, but the taller teen pulled away slowly, leaving Alex’s skin tingling with the phantom feeling of John’s fingers. “It’ll be fine Alex, I promise.”

John disappeared through doorway leaving Alex alone. Almost unconsciously he reached up to touch his tattoo, his tattoo that didn’t match John’s. His Tattoo that just like his father’s, would always be searching out more parts. 

Alex knotted his fingers through his long hair in frustration. _John was so, so good._ Fiery and brilliant, and everything Alex could ever want in someone he’d spend his whole life with. But apparently, his soul was so _needy and ungrateful,_ that he needed to fill the empty void where his heart should have been with at least two other people, if the size of John’s tattoo was anything to judge by. John, who Alex could tell with one touch of his mark never thought he would find his soulmate. John, who was scared of being abandoned, though who had abandoned him and caused him this fear Alex didn’t know. Didn’t know, but already wanted to hurt.

His mother had spoken of the magic of being with his father, how she had felt completed and whole, in a way she had never realized she was lacking. But he had still left. Left her to return to the wife he had run from, the wife and kids that hadn’t been enough. _And if a whole family wasn’t enough to keep his father in one place, then what chance did he have?_ Alex’s head ached, even thinking hurt.

“I know the bandages can’t be comfortable _mon amie_ , but you need to leave them be.” Alex froze as the french lilt met his ears suddenly. Quickly he withdrew his hand from his neck where he had begun to claw at his tattoo. Alex turned to face the rooms newest arrival. For a moment Alex thought that Thomas had returned, but slowly he began to see the differences between the two boys. Despite the obvious addition of the French accent, the new boy was a little taller and thinner than Jefferson. His black locks were shorter and pulled in a tight ponytail, and his skin was a few shades lighter. “May I take a look?” he asked, gesturing to where Alex had disrupted the bandages from his neck. Alex nodded, his words with John earlier had stressed his throat again, and his damaged vocal cords protested anymore movement.

“Thomas says your name is Alexander, _Oui?”_

Alex nodded as the French boy placed his hands on the edges of his wrappings.

“My name is _Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette.”_ Alex couldn’t help but turn to face the boy. A look of disbelief painted across his face. “It’s true!” The boy said throwing his hands up. “My parents were never more Christian than the day they named me!” Alex bit back a laugh. “Of course, you American’s could never manage such a mouthful, so most here just call me Lafayette.”

Alex shook his head with a little smile.

“What? Don’t like my name?” He said with false hurt. Alex shook his head no.

“Not… American…” Alex croaked out. Lafayette’s eyes widened, and his face broke into another infectious grin. 

The teen released the bandages and grabbed hold of his shoulders in excitement. “Ah! how long have you been stateside?”

Alex held up three fingers, Lafayette's enthusiasm bringing another smile to his face.

“Months?” Alex nodded. “Three years for me,” Lafayette said. “My mother sent me to live with my American uncle when I was 14.” Lafayette peeled back the edge of the bandages and continued talking as he worked. “my uncle was more interested in my mother's money than me however, and I took to skipping classes to find more interesting people to associate leaped. That’s how I met Monsieur Washington. Unlike a good amount of the Son's you see in charge, I was never a Tory. I stumbled upon _a révolution!_ And I loved every second of it.”

With the last of his bandages pulled away, Lafayette lightly inspected the finger-shaped bruises that decorated his skin, politely ignoring Alex’s tattoo. Quietly he said, “Monsieur Washington is a good man, you have nothing to fear from him.”

Alex wanted to spit out his protests, to regain his usual sharp tongue. But the damage to his throat was as good as any muzzle, keeping him from hiding behind bold fighting words. His silence put his life in the hands of others. Silently Lafayette replaced the bandages around his throat, the sudden click of the rooms heating caused Alex to startle under the French teen’s hands. Abruptly his neck burned with a feeling like the touch of cold rain, and Alex leapt forwards even as the tingling sensation spread out through his limbs.

Lafayette stood frozen, his eyes wide, hands still extended, the wad of bandages he had been wrapping around Alex’s neck rolled silently across the floor. Lafayette opened his mouth as if to speak, but Alex could only shake his head as he moved further away.

He shook like a leaf as his back made contact with the far wall. The words bubbled up inside of him needing to escape, needing to explain, but they were choaked away from his lips by his throat. “Alex, _Alex, mon amie, it’s alright.”_ Lafayette grew nearer, his hands raised like he was approaching a feral dog, like the starving beasts in the back streets of St. Croix. _“Je Suis désolé,_ It’s okay Alexander.” 

But it wasn’t, it really wasn’t, because he hadn’t even been able to give John a day before his tattoo had grabbed ahold of someone else. Was that it? Was his mark determined to tie him to every person who had ever shown him a shard of kindness? Lafayette had a soul so similar to his own, so eager to prove himself, so eager to find a family. And Alex wanted to give him that, because it was his duty too, to love his soulmate unconditionally, to be his and his alone. But Alex had already made that promise with another, another who happened to be Lafayette’s brother in arms.

The French immigrant was only a few feet away from Alex by the time he came back to himself. His knees were shaking, and his breath hitched painfully as he brought up his hands to ward off the other boy. Alex didn’t want to look at him, look and see the pain in his eyes, of being rejected by his soul mate. The same look his mother had worn. And he froze, every muscle in his body tensing as Lafayette placed his hands lightly on his shoulders. “Alex?” his voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. “Alex, _Vous vous sentez bien?”_ His head ached, feeling almost as raw as it had when the Tory had struck him with the bike chain. 

He couldn’t tell exactly when his knees gave out, just that he was dropping. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Lafayette give a cry of surprise and the feeling of the French teen's leather-clad arms breaking his fall. “Alex? _Alex, Peux-_ tu m'entendre _? Juste_ respirer _.”_ He felt the world shift, and his vision flickered out.

When he came back to himself he was laying on his cot, Lafayette's worried face hanging over him. The French teen was brushing through Alex's long hair, but his fingers stilled when he realized he had woken. “What-?” Alex croaked out before jackknifing upwards with the force of his coughs.

Lafayette eased him back down as his coughs subsided. “You passed out. Adrenaline and concussions don’t mix well.” Alex nodded. “And,” Lafayette hesitated. “And for my part in that I apologize, I shouldn’t have touched your tattoo, that was,” he hesitated again, though this time Alex had a feeling he was searching for a word more than anything.  _ “...intrusive? _ Of me.”

Alex shook his head, it wasn’t your fault, he wanted to say, but again the Tories attack prevented him from speaking. Then something dawned on him. Moving his fingers in a scribbling motion, Lafayette understood and moved to find something for him to write with. Alex sat all the way up in his cot, blinking away the headrush the movement caused him. The other boy returned shortly, a composition notebook and pen in hand. 

**It’s not your Fault**

“It was still not polite.”

**I jumped, It was an accident.**

“Still sorry.”

**I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have reacted like that** .

Lafayette’s eye’s widened. _ “No, No, mon amie. ça va-” _ Alex cut him off by waving his hand in front of the other boy's face.

**You must have noticed our tattoos don’t match. I have more than more soulmate, and I already know who they are. I promise I’ll leave as soon as I can. I’m sorry I can’t be as loyal as I should be, but I don’t want to hurt you so I'll leave right now if you wan-**

Lafayette closed his hand around Alex’s pen halting him midword. Alex could feel tears building behind his eyes, the other boy's presence was almost too much. His instincts screamed at him to search out Lafayette's mark, to find it, and add it to where John had started to fill his heart. But instead, he held still, his hand shaking a little under Lafayette.

All of a sudden Alex was engulfed in warmth. His head tucked under Lafayette's chin, the French boy’s arms wrapped tightly around him. “Alex, I don’t care.” the words were murmured warmly in his ear, and the pen dropped forgotten from his hands. Shakily Alex brought his arms up and wrapped them around his back, breathing in the faint smell of city streets that clung to him. Eventually, Lafayette’s hand found it’s way to the back of Alex’s neck and he relaxed into the warming glow of his soulmate.

The door across the room swung open, Lafayette raised his head to look, Alex still buried in his chest. “Laf?” John took a couple more steps into the room. “Alex?” He bounded over to where they sat. “What happened?! Are you okay?” John pulled him away lightly and against him. As soon as Lafayette removed his hand from his neck, Alex began to pull out of the haze. His eyes meeting John’s worried ones.

“John?” his voice cracked, but with Lafayette’s prolonged contact it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. Laurens’s cold fingers burned against his skin, bringing Hamilton closer and closer to the surface. 

_“John, puis-je vous parler un instant.”_ Alex heard Lafayette mutter. _He’s gonna tell him_. Something whispered in the back of his mind. 

_That’s okay,_ Laf _said it was okay._  He responded to the voice. 

But the voice kept talking. _He might be alright, but what about John? You felt it when you touched him, he’s scared you’ll leave him. Besides, Lafayette has known him longer than you, He’ll side with his friend._

The voice gripped Alex’s hazy mind with panic, and he tightened his hold on Laurens. “Can it wait for a second Laf?” John said, his solid hold on Alex was comforting.

_ “John, please mon amie.” _

“Laf, can’t it wait?”

“John, I know he’s your soulmate.” Laurens froze and so did Alex. John seemed to pull Alex tighter to his uninjured side. The haze was almost completely gone, and where Alex had been pulling Laurens closer only a second ago, his skin crawled with a warning to push John away before he hated him. “But John, he’s mine too.” Lafayette continued.

“What.” the blankness in John’s voice hurt. Not cold or anger, just blank.

“I’m sorry” he murmured quietly into John’s side, over and over and over. Alex could feel Laurens shifting to look at the back of his neck where he knew his tattoo was exposed to the air.

The room hung in a state of stillness. The steady thrum of the heating unit the only noise around.

“You’re not going to leave are you?” John’s voice was quiet and still, and if possible Alex tensed even further. John’s arms went loose, freeing Alex from his grasp. He could run, he run and not look back, he could leave and they wouldn’t stop him. The part of him that had been dodging fighting gangs and the kicks of shop owners when they found him sleeping on their stoop, lightened at the thought of leaving. The whole situation felt overwhelmingly bad and risky. Too many unknown factors to account for. But the rest of his being screamed to stay. To stay with his soulmates, with his family, and if they were willing to have him, he would. So that’s exactly what he did. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”


	3. A Whiter Shade of Pale

To say Alex adapted quickly to life with the Sons, would be a severe understatement. Alex took to the life as easy as breathing. The Son’s independence from the Tories was still fresh, it’s leadership shaky and ripe with opportunities for advancement. Everywhere he looked Alex saw challenges to overcome, and he took to each of them with manic intensity. Gone was the cautious, and quiet boy, who scavenged for food and slept in doorways. This was Alex in his purest form, and he loved every second of it.

Of course, not everyone loved Alexander.

John Adam’s, Washington’s de facto lieutenant, held a burning dislike for Hamilton and stated such as often as he could in front of the General. So in return, Alex hated him, and their feud was bitter and angry, often ending with the forced separation of the two before things came to blows. 

Adam’s enjoyed his role in leadership, his seniority over everyone. But above all else, he wanted Alex to know that a skinny uneducated immigrant from the Caribbean would never be able to win. Not in the Son’s, and not in the real world.  Adam’s attended the school on the nice side of the city, he came from money and had no real business mixing with the Son’s. Alex didn’t get it. 

John explained one night when Alex frustrations with the man were making him twitchy and erratic. They sat, their legs tangled together on the sagging pea green couch John had scavenged off a street corner, and talked about the old days before the Son’s had broken away from the Tories. 

Adam’s had pissed The King off, he said. And hadn’t been too keen on getting fished out of the Hudson, so he’d run to Washington for help. The General had turned him down initially worried it was a trap. But Adam’s had offered him money, the one thing the Son’s had really needed, and Washington was forced to relent. 

Washington wanted it all done quietly, gang wars were messy and had lots of collateral damage. King had guns, but even he didn’t have his boy’s use them often. Zip gun’s and stabbings were easier to overlook. Just “troubled kids” fighting amongst himself. Something to be viewed from afar, and maybe rille some ladies up. The cops wouldn’t give them much trouble as long as they kept the fighting in-house. But the moment someone fired a gun, everything would change. “Troubled kids” became violent criminals, and everything went to shit from there.

So Washington did his best to keep things as clean as possible, make the Son’s more of a nuisance than an enemy. He wanted to convince the Tories that it wasn’t worth it to keep fighting, it drained them too much. But like they say, “no plan survives first contact” and a Tory member used a gun. Adam’s family money was useful beyond belief suddenly, and because of it, the Son’s had survived. Adam’s help had insured him a position of power, and his betrayal of The King guaranteed that he could never leave.

To the exasperation of all, Alexander's new knowledge of Adam’s did little to temper the two teen’s hatred of each other. Eventually, Washington declared that the _“sycophantic upstart”_ be kept away from Adam’s, and the _“Self-important coward”_ stay far from Hamilton.

Burr was quiet and cautious and reminded Alex quite strongly of his brother. But James at least had been firm in his convictions. Alex was half convinced Burr had never so much as held an opinion in his whole life. If he was to ask Burr what he thought of President Johnson, ask his opinion on the Stonewall Riots, or _even the fucking Vietnam war_ , as he put it one night as he ranted to John and Laf, he would get nothing. 

The teen would hum and agree, on occasion counsel moderation, but never anything new. So despite the fact, Burr was likely his closest friend outside of his soulmates, being one of the few that would just sit and listen to Alex ramble. Alex couldn’t help but loathe him just a bit. 

Well… for that, and, Alex would have had to be an idiot, to miss the exchange of glances between John and Aaron. 

He had asked about it once. he’d been strung out and exhausted, Adam’s had been merciless all through the day, drawn up his every little flaw into the light of day, and Alex was just done. So while wallowing in a pit of self-pity, he had snapped. Aaron had passed them on the way back to the tiny apartment John rented, and Alex could have cut the tension between the two with a knife. He had yelled, and John had yelled back. Laf had come home to find Alex fuming at the kitchen table, John having stormed out. 

Lafayette had sighed and sat down with Alex as he shook with fury, and fear. Fear that he had driven his soulmate away, and fury more at himself, than anything. 

Burr, Laf had explained, didn’t have a soulmark. He did have one once, however. His tattoo had matched the girlfriend of a Tory named Marcus Prevost, and her name had been Theodosia. Burr hadn’t ever been part of the gang scene, his parents despite all odds were fairly wealthy and influential in the community, and he had a bright future ahead of him. Theodosia’s mother had been a maid for the family, and she and Aaron had met by accident while she was running her mother a key she had forgotten at home.

When they found out they were soulmates, Aaron had wanted her to break it off with Marcus, said it wasn’t right. But she was scared, so she kept their relationship a secret. She would come with her mother to work or sneak away at lunch so Aaron could take her to a little dinner nearby. During the nights she would return to Prevost’s side and support him from the sidelines at fights, and act like any girl belonging to a Tory would, proudly displaying the red cravat around her throat.

But then she had gotten pregnant. 

Theodosia had heard whispers that Washington was planning of splintering off, so she to went to him for protection. But somehow, Marcus had found out. Not only that she was pregnant, but who the father was. Washington had her hidden her away, and the Son’s were in active rebellion against the Tories, making her untouchable to him. But not everyone had been out of harm's way. 

Marcus had taken a gun against the orders of The King and killed Theodosia’s mother, then stole her keys and marched to the Burr household. The police had responded to a noise complaint and found him in the house. Both Burr’s parents and older sister were dead. Aaron having escaped by luck alone. With those four bullets, Marcus changed the entire game.

Now orphaned, angry, and alone, Burr had sworn his allegiance to the Son’s and fought alongside them in the escalating rebellion. Not a week after the Son’s had emerged victorious against all odds, Theodosia had gone into labor and died, leaving Aaron with a newborn daughter he named after her, but no other family to call his own.

John, Laf had explained, had met Burr before Theodosia’s death, and had volunteered to help with the baby. He had experience, having helped his sister with her baby daughter before he had left home. Laf had shrugged then, and let Alex fill in the rest for himself. 

And while John had assured him after Alex had apologized for his actions, that nothing had happened between him and Burr for quite some time, the ingrained protectiveness one feels for their soulmate still led to Alex having a shorter temper with Burr then his friend deserved.

Jefferson though, Jefferson was something else entirely. Alex hadn’t been sure what to expect when Washington had called him to his first cabinet meeting. He had been half convinced he was about to be punished for an argument he’d had with Adam’s that morning that had gotten out of hand. But no, Washington had wanted his advice. He had grown tired of the same stale opinions he had been hearing even before they had left the Tories, and he wanted an outside perspective. But regardless of the fact that Alex had been brought in to think new things, Jefferson answered his every word with contempt.

Washington hadn’t been able to get between the two of the quick enough the first time they fought. Alex had launched himself over the tabletop, and his hands had wrapped around Thomas’s throat, while the southerner had gotten in a few good kicks before Knox had managed to pull them apart. The two spat at each other like mad dogs and refused to so much as be in a room with each other for days after.

But something between all the snapping and fighting and shouting had impressed Washington, and Alex found himself in a permanent position across the table from Jefferson. Angelica Schuyler had taken to playing moderator whenever the two were involved in a debate of any sort. _“For the safety all others involved. ”_ As she put it. And she was right, It seemed the two couldn’t go more than a day without some violent exchange of words.

Adam’s insulted his person, Aaron refused to engage in debate, but Jefferson insulted his mind, and that wasn’t something Alex could stand for.

“He’s insufferable!” Alex growled as he paced the small bedroom of John’s apartment. “The bastard is not only a fucking coward, but he’s an, _an inbred idiot!”_ Laf chuckled quietly from where he reclined against the headboard of John’s bed.

“Peter and Jane are actually quite lovely people,” John said to the ceiling, his head resting in Lafayette’s lap.

“Who?” Alex said, pausing in his tirade for a moment to look over at his soulmate.

“Thomas’s folks,” Laurens said with a yawn. “What?” he shrugged. “Mrs. Jefferson makes an excellent casserole.”

“Oh,” Alex blinked, frozen mid-pace as he tried to remember what he had been talking about.

_“Mon Amour, vous avez l'impression que vous êtes sur le point de tomber morts par manque de sommeil.”_ Lafayette said, chucking a pillow at Alex’s head.

“I’m fine,” Alex said, waving off his fellow immigrant’s concerns. “besides, I’m far too irritated to sleep right now.”

“Hamilton, human beings are not meant to go without sleep.” John groaned as he rolled off the bed, his loose curls flitting around his face as he stumbled over to Alexander. He had ditched his usual leather Son’s jacket, and his white undershirt was rumpled from spending the previous night on the floor

“I’m fine, just, just let me finish something, and I’ll meet you in bed in a second.” John sighed, and dropped his head onto Alex’s shoulder.

“Don’t stay up too long.”

“I won’t” John straightened up, with a light kiss on Alex's cheek.

Alex closed the bedroom door softly behind him and made his way to the small dining room table. Grabbing a notebook Alex settled, down to write.

_ Dear James, _

\---

Alex never made it to bed, having spent the whole night trying to figure out how to put everything that had happened to him into words for his brother. He’d left early in the morning to mail it, skipping out on breakfast so he could take advantage of the quiet lull in activity to walk to the post office. The winter chill stung his skin, and Alex readjusted the scarf Lafayette had bought him.

Alex liked the chaos of New York, especially now that he could experience it along with everyone else rather than as the ground they all trod upon. It brought to mind a quote he had read somewhere on St. Croix. _“Civilization is like a thin layer of ice upon a deep ocean of chaos and darkness.”_ Back in the Caribbean, it had been something of a mantra, A promise that as long as he kept clinging to what remained, he could never be truly lost. But here in New York, Alex could truly appreciate how thin that layer of ice was.

Tensions bubbled under everyone's skin, powerful and corrupting. Racial inequality, the war, riots, movement just under the surface, shifting like tectonic plates, threatening to bring them all to their knees. And it was wonderful. But even still, he could respect the stillness of an early morning.

Alex made a conscious decision to head Schuyler's after the post office. It was early in the morning, which meant Eliza would be working, and if she didn’t already have customers, Alex was likely to find himself with a warm cup of coffee he didn’t have the money to buy.

She was wiping down tables when Alex shouldered his way inside. He grinned at her as he shook the winter snow out of his hair. Her long black hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and her blue knee-length dress brought out her eyes. The face of respectability. You could never tell by looking at her that she spent her nights stitching up gang members.

“Morning ‘Liza,”

“Alexander, how are you?”

Alex laughed. “A bit chilled I’ll admit. It’s been months, but I'm still not used to how cold it gets here.”

She frowned slightly. “You should be careful Alex, you’ll get sick easy, especially if your body isn't used to it.” He barely managed to suppress a shudder at the thought of spending weeks laid up in bed with a fever, like he had when his mother had died. Ever since then, and especially after nearly drowning during the hurricane, Alex had been prone to contracting illnesses in his lungs. “I’ll get something from the back to warm you up.”

Alex smiled at her appreciatively, as he slid into one of the booths against the wall. Tilting his head back, Alex blinked rapidly to combat the dizzy spell that overtook him. He jolting as a coffee mug clicked down of the table next to him, he could have sworn Eliza had only left seconds ago. Alex listened as her shoes clicked against the linoleum floor, as he stared blankly at his coffee momentarily forgetting its purpose.

It was hot, and black as it came, scalding his throat as it went down. His thoughts drifted listlessly as he struggled to remember the last time he had more than an hour of sleep, and found he couldn’t remember.

_“-so early?”_ Alex snapped to, as he realized someone had been talking to him. Jefferson stood to his left shooting a hip, his face painted in its usual cocky smirk.

Alex wasn’t quite sure what his rival had asked, and his brain wasn’t feeling particularly articulate at the moment, so he answered Jefferson’s question with a proud middle finger to the face.

Thomas responded with something, but his head choice that moment to go funny again, and when Alex came back to himself he knew he had missed his cue. Jefferson was looking at him warily, but Alex couldn’t have cared less, because the world was shifting, shifting like those tectonic plates he had been thinking about earlier. Plates? Speaking of plates, when was the last time he had eaten…

_“-_ ander _! Alex?”_ he jerked upright as something clasped his shoulder, when had he stooped over? And turned to see Jefferson only inches away. The taller teen reached out and laid the back of his hand over Alex’s forehead like James had when he was sick. Alex leaned into the contact, and Jefferson jerked his hand back like he’d been burned.

Alex doesn’t know why Thomas moved backward, and he took a step upright to counter his movement. And for a moment everything was still, then his vision greyed out.

_ “-uck!” _

Alex against all odd’s doesn’t hit the floor hard. Jefferson managed to get his arms under him just in time to keep him from cracking his skull open, but not quick enough to keep Alex upright.

Hamilton blinked lazily up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Jefferson grit his teeth and landed a sharp slap to Alex’s cheek, shocking him upright. Alex shook his head wildly to clear it, as the sounds around him sharpened considerably almost to the point of pain. Alex hissed as he rubbed his raw cheek, and used his other hand to help push himself upright.

“Woah! _What do you think you’re doing?”_ Thomas exclaimed, his hand wrapped tightly around Alexander's wrist. “You need to stay down.”

Alex laughed a little, pushing away the thin tendrils of hair that had come undone. “Never knew you cared.”

_“Hamilton!”_ Thomas hissed sharply, pulling Alex down again as he tried to stand.

“I’m fine I promise, just a little out of practice.” he swatted lightly at Jefferson’s hand trying to get the other teen to let go.

“Practice? What on earth are you talking about?”

“You know, _sleep and stuff._ It’s been awhile since I’ve pulled three consecutive all-nighters.”

Jefferson looked at his rival blankly, his brain not quite processing what he was saying. _Three days, The fuck were you thinking Alexander?_

“Come on.” he grunted pulling Alex to his feet a little rougher than necessary.

“Hey watch it!” He hissed as Jefferson’s fingers dug in a bit too tightly to his arm.

Jefferson dragged Alex back behind the counter, through the kitchens, and passed a confused looking Eliza. Taking the narrow hallway, Thomas led him into the back area that the Son’s used. “Stay.” he said jabbing his finger at Alex’s chest. Hamilton raised his hands innocently, and flipped Thomas off the moment he turned his back.

Alex frowned, John wasn’t going to be happy if he found out Alex had fainted. Laf wouldn’t be either, but his fellow immigrant would be much less likely to blow it out of proportion. John though, John had a thing about not taking care of yourself. When had first joined up with the Son’s John had sat beside him at almost every meal to ensure he ate. When John couldn’t there Laf was. Not that his french soulmate hadn’t allowed Alex to skip from time to time when the shift to eating three meals a day made him feel sick.

Lafayette had privately told him John used to be notoriously bad at taking care of himself when he’d joined up with the Tories. And that Washington had to practically demanded he eat before John could do anything. John hated those days back when he had been at his lowest, and it pained him to see anyone else going through that too. It was made worse by Alex being his soulmate. The ingrained need to protect each other was a powerful thing.

Jefferson came back into the room seconds later a folding army green cot in hand. Snapping it open he pointed at Alex. “You, sleep.” he said seriously.

Alex sighed and took a step backward as the other boy approached. “Thomas I’m fine, I just slipped up for a second.”

“Oh fuck that. You passed out less than five minutes ago, you’re not allowed to say that.”

“Thomas back off.” Alex said coldly, the other teen still approaching closer. “I said I was fine.”

Jefferson lunged out and snagged his wrist again, and Alex stumbled uncoordinatedly away. Alex put up what little resistance he could, as the much taller of the two dragged him across the room towards the cot. Shoving Alex forward, the immigrant landed of the makeshift bed facing the wall.

As Alex attempted to push off again,  “Oh no you don’t,” Thomas grumbled and clasped his hand around the back of Alex’s neck to push him back on the bed.

In his sleep-muddled state, it took a second for Alex to recognize the sensation of endorphins flooding his system and warming his center, as his tattoo reacted to the presence of its mate. As quickly as it started, it ceased, as Jefferson jerked back like Alex had bitten him. Hamilton felt hazy, Jefferson’s desire to get him to sleep had seeped through the bond and was making it hard to stay awake. Fighting the urge to curl up into a ball Alex rolled around to face Jefferson.

Thomas was looking at him his eyes wide and blank, and Alex felt a wave of uncertain anxiety, as he failed to react.

“Thomas? Are you okay?”

“I- _We’re-?”_

“Yeah,” Alex gave a weak laugh, “I guess what they say about opposites attracting really is true.” Thomas glanced down at him, looking lost, before starting and turning around. Alex felt his heart sink as he walked away, and he cursed the bond for making him care. But Thomas only grabbed ahold of a metal folding chair and dragged it back over to the side of the cot, and settled into it by his side.

“Go to sleep Alex,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. Alex nodded and curled up on the cot facing the wall to give Jefferson some semblance of privacy.

\---

“You too?” Thomas jerked out of his stupor at the sound of a voice behind him. John tapped the back of his neck as he took a step toward the sleeping Alexander.

“Yeah- I mean, are we both-?”

“Laf too.” John said settling himself on the ground in front of Alex’s cot.

“Three soulmates?” Jefferson sounded vaguely impressed.

“Yeah,” He paused for a second. “I’m glad it was you.”

“What?” Thomas looked at Laurens in confusion, he couldn’t understand how John could feel that way. They disagreed almost as much as Alex and he did.”

“Alex,” he hesitated. “Alex was scared not knowing who the third was, but I think he was even more scared of figuring it out.” John sighed. “He had this idea in his head that having more than one soulmate was some unforgivable sin, that one day he wouldn’t be able to help himself and he’d just leave and go looking for his last piece.”

“Why would he think that?”

Laurens shrugged, “Because it’s what his day did, or what he says his dad did. Personally, I think he was just kinda a shitty guy.” Alex stirred in his sleep. “Then again, from the way he talks about her, his mother was a wonderful person. I can’t imagine her soulmate being like that.”

Thomas hummed. “Have you ever heard the theory about that?”

“About what?”

“Mismatched soulmates?”

“Can’t say I have.”

Jefferson straightened in his chair. “Well, basically it say’s that you get couples every once in awhile that aren't really meant to be together but meant to make something together. Like destiny.”

John smirked. “Thomas, we have tattoo’s that literally tell us our soulmates, I don’t think there's anyone alive who can really consider something so obvious, destiny.”

“No, no. Not the tattoos. It’s just-” he struggled with how to put his thoughts into words. “Bare with me here, but like, We didn’t meet because of our tattoo’s. Alex is from the West Indies, Laf is from France, _I’m from fucking Virgina,_ You’re from South Carolina. We didn’t track each other down because we had matching tattoo’s, we just all, somehow, managed to meet. How does that not feel like destiny to you?”

The room hovered with a delicate silence for a moment, before John broke it with his quiet words. “You sound like my sister.”

“How do you mean?”

“Just, the destiny stuff. She liked to say that people’s souls were tied in a way beyond the tattoo’s, that they were just the part of the bond we could see. She would say, that, even worlds away, we would always find who we were meant to.”

“How true do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it really matters. I’m here now.”


	4. Epilogue: Mr Tambourine Man

Thing’s weren’t always easy. They were cold and spat on, and they didn’t have much in the way of prospects. But they had each other. 

Thomas went college as desegregation happened around them, and for the sake of irony got himself a degree in law. John got in trouble from time to time, protests and riots and advocacy landing him overnight in jail cell almost as often as not. Together with Lafayette, he opened a small pub across the street from the Schuyler's with an attic apartment for them to live in. 

Alex got himself a job working at Franklin's paper, writing under various pseudonyms just to have someone to argue with, and occasionally passing coded messages on the behest of Madison, the current head of the Son’s. After a particularly nasty revival of gang violence in Alex’s third year in the states, one that had almost cost John his life and had cost Eacker’s his. The Tories and Son’s had struck a wary truce after George Hanover, otherwise known as The King had been deposed by his own men by way of insanity.

Washington and his soulmate, a tiny but fierce woman named Martha moved out in the country, but still swung by the neighborhood to look in on everyone, and the world kept spinning.

Alex hunched over his desk as he penned a letter to his brother. James was a father of three girls these days, who sounded like they could give the Schuyler’s a run for their money in the fierceness category, and he had been talking about bringing them to New York to visit their uncle.

Alex and the other three had talked about adopting a few times over the years but had stumbled across the issue of Alex’s less than legitimate immigration status. And as the government refused to give custody of a child to two men who weren’t soulmates, as the rest of them technically were, their efforts had been far from fruitful.

Their saving grace had come in the form of Philip, a prospective member of the newest generation of the Son’s. The kid had curls even wilder than John’s, the Impulsiveness of Alexander, and had been all shoved on them by Madison who refused to accept the skinny nine-year-old into the gang. So their family had grown to five.

As Alex looked at the world around him, he couldn’t imagine having stayed in St. Croix. It seemed like madness now, his fear, and the resentment he had felt for James when his brother had sent him alone stateside.

It just felt right, where he was now. With John and Laf and Thomas, with their own slice of the world, they had cut out for themselves. Tucked into each other’s sides as the harsh northern winters that Alex never thought he would get used too, roared outside. Cuddling up together in front of the radiator and pretending it was a fireplace as John gave an impassioned speech about whatever was wrong with the world until Alex began to feel bad for the politicians on the receiving end of John's wrath. It was in those moments that Alex truly felt like he’d come home to something wonderful.

He and Thomas still fought like dogs at times, tearing into each other with their words. Even being soulmate couldn’t stop that. They still had periods where they couldn’t bring themselves to look each other in the eyes and found themselves unable to believe they could be soulmates.

Alex still had his moments of hypomania where he couldn’t focus on anything but what he was working on or could focus on nothing at all. Frantic and hysterical, and not a big believer in the concept of nightly sleep or eating.

John got angry sometimes verging on violent, and only Lafayette to could pull him back. The french teen himself was on occasion prone to hurling creatively phrased insults in various languages when playing moderator for his housemates became too much to handle. 

But they stayed together, and that was all that mattered. They stayed together and helped each other, and made everything work somehow. God only knows how they managed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for giving me the opportunity, to play around in this world for a bit. I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to incorporate as many parts of the prompt as I could (still couldn't quite get the Vampire thing to work), I hope you enjoy!
> 
> P.S. I had some fun with the chapter titles, care for some period-appropriate music?


End file.
